


all eyes on me

by nombre_appelido



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Piano, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27074710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nombre_appelido/pseuds/nombre_appelido
Summary: anxiety. piano. performances. we've got a fun thing going here.dedicated to memento_mori, who was kind to my writing and asked for more.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	all eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Memento__Mori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memento__Mori/gifts).



> yes the title is cheesy as hell, but you know what?

I had always been a bit timid. Even as a girl, I hid behind my books. In class, death was preferable to answering aloud, and I developed debilitating anxiety.

So I of course ended up becoming a professional pianist.

Well, in an orchestra at least. I never played solo. Absolutely not. No way. I was a decent pianist, though.

At one point, my maestra asked me if I’d be interested in playing at Carnegie Hall.

I suppose next she’ll be asking fish if they’re interested in swimming.

“Of course I’m interested--” but she cut me off. “Now wait. You’re a very withdrawn young woman, even shy, yes? So I thought I should tell you that if you play in Carnegie Hall, you’ll be opening solo for four minutes. Still interested?"

_**Well, that changes things.** _

Luckily, my therapist and I had spent many a session working on precisely these situations, and no matter how anxious I was, I wasn’t fool enough to refuse Carnegie Hall.

Yeah, I ended up regretting that.

Despite my rising panic, the months flew by and I was staring at the floor the morning of my performance. I hadn’t even seen the hall, since my maestra insisted we practice elsewhere so Carnegie Hall would be new for us, too. She even came up with a good acoustics argument.

The day passed slowly. I practiced my piece until my fingers hurt, drank way too much water, and squealed over the gorgeous hotel we were staying in--again--with my friends. Then the time came to get ready.

I stared at the bathroom mirror minutes before I was supposed to go out. I carefully adjusted my dark blue dress, touched up my lipstick, nervously fiddled with my hijab, and sent up silent prayers for me to please, _please_ , not fuck this up. I heard them call my name-- ** _which they pronounced perfectly, impressive_** \--and I went out and sat as the curtain rose.

Immediately I saw that everyone in the hall was looking at me, which made my toes curl with fear.

And then I started playing.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed yourself. don't hesitate to comment and let me know what you think.


End file.
